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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446176">What Goes Around</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiceAndIce/pseuds/MiceAndIce'>MiceAndIce</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bullying, Dark Magic, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loss of Identity, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Graphic Violence, Parseltongue, Plans For The Future, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Time Travel, Young Tom Riddle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:09:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiceAndIce/pseuds/MiceAndIce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has been flung into the past. In a body that isn't his own, he must decide what to do about little Tom Riddle.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter &amp; Tom Riddle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story contains some heavy topics. I would not consider there to be any graphic descriptions (I intentionally stuck to implications), but if you are sensitive, you may want to skip this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up as a Lestrange wasn't necessarily the most jarring experience of Harry's life, but it ranked in the top ten for sure. Fighting dragons, losing the bones in his arm, seeing purgatory, defeating the Dark Lord: all noteworthy times to compete against.</p>
<p>He must have become too cocky. Too many near death experiences must have fooled him into believing he was protected by Magic herself. How else could he explain his arrogance? His lack of vigilance?</p>
<p>Most Death Eaters fled after Voldemort's fall. Cowards, the lot of them. Some merely folded into the shadows to wreak havoc over the years in the absence of a leader. An eternal headache to replace the scar on Auror Harry's forehead.</p>
<p>He had dodged so many Avada Kedavras, so many bone crushing hexes, so many blood leeching curses.</p>
<p>And then it happened. A skirmish in the Department of Mysteries once more. A rouge Death Eater, looking for a prophecy, any prophecy, that would return their Dark Lord to them.</p>
<p>Harry tripped. He dodged a green flash of light and tripped directly into the Veil of Death.</p>
<p>Was he really dead this time? Was this a different form of purgatory? Or hell perhaps?</p>
<p>It didn't matter.</p>
<p>Harry was furious.</p>
<p>His life was ruined. Again. Again by Voldemort. Could he have his own life? Ever? Apparently not. He finally had his dream: a loving family, a wonderful career, and safe place to come home to. All gone. All gone in a swish of a Veil due to some desperate Riddle fanatic. All gone and wrapped up into the brain that was shoved inside Corvus Lestrange's teenage body in 1939.</p>
<p>Did this body exist before Harry intruded upon this version of the world? Was it created by Magic to create a home for Harry's consciousness as it was shuttled through time and space? Harry did not know how to find the answers to these questions that have plagued him since his awakening in the unfamiliar body. The Lestrange family acted like he had always existed, and there existed memories in this fleshy brain that did not belong to Harry. He didn't want to consider the other option so much. Had he erased the previous Corvus? Dominated the mind in some way and deleted him?</p>
<p>No matter. He can't change what happened. He can only move forward.</p>
<p>For what though? To live his life again? Corvus' life? Watching the Dark Lord rise once more? Heat bubbled in Harry's gut and chest as he sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.</p>
<p>Tom. Tom Riddle. It was all Tom's fault. That evil man - evil little boy at the moment - was the cause of all this. Harry thought he had forgiven him; not for Voldemort's sake, absolutely not, but for his own sanity.</p>
<p>Apparently not.</p>
<p>"Tom," he called out to the second year. Riddle was a bit down the table from him, so curious heads turned in his direction to observe why he was seeking out a student below his year. Riddle's own eyes widened slightly, in surprise, in a sense of wariness.</p>
<p>"Yes, Lestrange?" The hesistant smile burned Harry's chest. He thought he had everyone fooled, didn't he? "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but please call me Riddle. We are not very familiar now, are we?"</p>
<p>"I don't mean to be presumptuous either, but aren't you a bit cold, Tom?" Riddle's shoulders visibly stiffened, and Harry had to bite back a grin. "Do you need someone to help you patch up your robes?"</p>
<p>Riddle's robes were fine at first glance. Slightly worn but overall good quality and clean. A little magical talent and probing would reveal the obvious however: an illusion over the boy's secondhand clothes to make them appear anything other than the threadbare, ill-fitting garbage they were. Second years didn't quite have the skills yet to actually repair and fix clothing: animating fabric to stitch itself together and multiplying it to thicken the threads. Riddle had made do with what he had, and a dusting of red appeared on his face just noticeably enough at being called out.</p>
<p>Harry did not take pleasure in mocking people. Not in mocking people for their appearance, their wealth, their status, their relationships. But Riddle. Riddle had to be knocked down. He could not rise again. Harry would bring him down.</p>
<p>A simple Avada Kedvra could do the trick, but Harry wasn't the kind of person to do that. No. He wasn't like Voldemort. Harry had never murdered, not a single soul, no matter how vile. It was the one thing he refused to do. Besides, he would just end up in Azkaban, suffering for the rest of his life. A final victory for You-Know-Who.</p>
<p>No, he would take down Riddle a different way. He had to. Riddle always valued power and influence. What would he be if he couldn't get either? If he was just another struggling student?</p>
<p>Some of the Slytherins at the table snickered, but the majority averted their eyes and awkwardly made to stop paying attention. Riddle had already been gaining respect; as the smartest boy in his year, it wasn't a difficult feat in addition to his pleasant looks and manufactured charm.</p>
<p>Riddle took a moment too long trying to compose a dignified response.</p>
<p>"Come on, don't be shy. The Hogwart's fund for needy students isn't even close to enough for a decent pair of robes." Harry made to get up from his seat to cast a repairing charm on Riddle's clothes. All an act. He knew how Tom would respond.</p>
<p>"Don't," Riddle clipped out, and they both knew it was the wrong thing to say with the wrong inflection. It made Tom look weak. "I don't need your help."</p>
<p>The boy still had many years ahead of him to learn how to deal with these unexpected situations. His 12 years of life weren't enough experience to make him perfect. Harry held up his hands and sat back down.</p>
<p>"Alright, alright." With that, he dropped the subject. Someone at the table coughed. A boy sitting across from him - Theodore? His mind supplied him with the name, but he didn't know if it was correct - raised his eyebrows at him. A silent question. A friend of Corvus, apparently looking for an explanation.</p>
<p>Harry continued his meal and ignored everyone around him.</p>
<p>What the hell was he going to do for the rest of this life?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some notes about this story:</p><p>I find Grindelwald boring, so there is zero discussion about his war here. Poof! He is gone.</p><p>I like time travel fics where our golden trio goes to the past or Tom comes to the future a lot, but why is Tom always the one who dominates the dynamics? Our heroes know everything about him! I'm sure they could put him in his place if they wanted to.</p><p>I haven't written in a while, so here's my tiny attempt at getting back into it. What parts do you like? What parts don't you like? Do I use too many commas? Do I ask too many questions?</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Year 2/3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tom Riddle was not rich.</p>
<p>    Tom Riddle was not pureblood.</p>
<p>    Tom Riddle was not kind.</p>
<p>    What did he have? How did he gain his peers' respect? Their loyalty? Their obedience?</p>
<p>    Talent. Intelligence. Charm.</p>
<p>    Harry had to put a stop to it from the start. Riddle would only grow smarter with time and maturity: craftier spellwork, increased social skills, and experience would place him above his classmates year after year.</p>
<p>    So what to do? Harry didn't know a spell to take away IQ points.</p>
<p>    He did have his history to guide him however. His years under the Dursley's thumbs - belittling him, mocking him, pushing him to doubt himself and his abilities - gave him more than enough inspiration.</p>
<p>    The first steps were easy enough.</p>
<p>    "Mr. Riddle, are you done ruffling through your things yet?" Professor Dumbledore said. A stack of scrolls sat on the desk beside him, and Tom schooled his expression into a sheepish grin. Charming, he reminded himself. He resisted the temptation to run a hand through his hair in frustration.</p>
<p>    "I'm sorry, Professor. I seem to have misplaced my homework." His classmates shot quick glances at him. Riddle forgetting the homework? Unheard of. Dumbledore stared at Riddle for a moment, assessing. Then, he sighed.</p>
<p>    "You may turn it in later today with a deduction to your grade. 5 points from Slytherin as well."</p>
<p>    "Yes, Professor," Riddle said. He ducked his head as if embarrassed. Really, he just wanted to glare at the old bastard. Of course, it would be this class that something like this happened in. Where on earth did he put his homework? He knew he completed it.</p>
<p>    "I'd like to remind everyone of the homework for this week. I will not be accepting late work as of today." Dumbledore turned to the chalk board to continue the lesson.</p>
<p>    "Yes, Professor," the class chorused.</p>
<p>    Tom could barely pay attention. Instead, he made a list of all the places he could have possibly left his homework. In the worst case, he would give himself two hours leeway to rewrite the whole damn thing.</p>
<p>    The paper Dumbledore received later that day was filled with scratchy and rushed writing, and Tom barely looked at him before going right back down to the dungeons.</p>
<p>    ~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>    Harry, now Corvus, was playing with a little ball of fire and ash when Riddle came through the common room door. He looked as composed as ever, but Harry hoped the boy was irritated and frazzled on the inside.</p>
<p>    Riddle was a smart one. The next time Harry went looking for a paper to snatch, he couldn't find any that belonged to the boy.</p>
<p>    No matter.</p>
<p>    Harry had to hide a laugh as Riddle walked from the dorms to the common room for the third time now. Looking for something clearly, but too proud to ask.</p>
<p>    Tom's eyes lit up. There. His potions textbook was on the table near the fireplace. How did he not see it before?</p>
<p>    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>    Corvus Lestrange watched silently as Tom Riddle tripped on his way to his seat in the Great Hall.</p>
<p>    Corvus Lestrange watched as Tom tripped as he entered the common room.</p>
<p>    Corvus Lestrange watched as Tom tripped exiting the dorms.</p>
<p>    Walking to class. Leaving the restroom. Going up the stairs.</p>
<p>    Corvus Lestrange was always there.</p>
<p>    Tom Riddle did not notice. It was always crowded. He tried to laugh it off sometimes and tried to play it off other times with him going down to tie his shoes, but people noticed. They snickered. His face burned red. Was there a spell to stop that particularly annoying biological reaction?</p>
<p>    Where was his potions textbook now? He only walked into the common room to try to find it, and somehow he had bumped into an armchair and tumbled to the ground. His growing limbs reduced his coordination - damn puberty - but was he really this graceless?</p>
<p>    Everyone was staring at him. Maybe not, but it felt like it. He scrambled off the ground and rushed back to his room, forgetting about his textbook.</p>
<p>    Corvus Lestrange watched from a seat by the fireplace, remembering his cousin's laugh as he had tumbled to the floor all those years ago.</p>
<p>    ~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>    Someone was out to get him.</p>
<p>    Tom Riddle was sure of it.</p>
<p>    He had never been this forgetful before. Never this clumsy. Never this stupid.</p>
<p>    He stared at his graded essay like he'd never seen it before. Red marks littered the scroll. There was no way he had written that werewolves turned on the new moon. Everyone knew it was the full moon. Why the hell did his essay say new moon?</p>
<p>    "Tom, do you need help with your schoolwork?" A voice said, not unkindly, over his shoulder. Riddle slammed his hand down over his essay, crinkling the parchment and hiding his score. The hair on the back of his neck raised, and he turned slowly to see Corvus Lestrange.</p>
<p>    Corvus kept trying to be nice to him. Corvus was the only one still talking to him. Corvus kept talking to him like they were familiar with each other.</p>
<p>    Tom Riddle fucking hated Corvus.</p>
<p>    "I know you have a bit of an ego - doesn't everyone in Slytherin - but it's okay to get help if you're struggling," Harry said. Some Slytherins in the common room were listening, he knew. Tom seemed too rattled by his presence to take note. Tom hated being pitied, and Tom hated being put down, so Harry did his best to do both to Tom while seeming like a gracious older student.</p>
<p>    "Are you doing this to me?" Tom said sharply, and Harry's eyes widened slightly. He was a Gryffindor at heart, not a Slytherin; nobody could say he was fantastic at hiding the truth. Tom saw his reaction and went still.</p>
<p>    Harry could see him slotting all the pieces together in his mind. How Corvus always seemed to be around when or soon before something went wrong for Tom.</p>
<p>    Oh well. It didn't matter if Tom knew the game. Everybody else just had to believe Corvus. Rich, pureblood, and responsible Corvus over the orphaned charity case. Why on Earth would he spend so much time mentally torturing this nobody anyway?</p>
<p>    "I think you need to get more sleep, Tom. You've seemed very tired lately."</p>
<p>    They stared each other down.</p>
<p>    One moment.</p>
<p>    Another moment.</p>
<p>    Tom nodded but narrowed his eyes.</p>
<p>    "Perhaps you're right," he said and walked away.</p>
<p>    ~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>    Where was his potions textbook now?</p>
<p>    "Mr. Riddle?" A dead silence filled the classroom.</p>
<p>    Corvus must have left it by the fireplace again.</p>
<p>    "Mr. Riddle?" Dumbledore spoke slightly louder, and a head of black hair jerked up. The surprise on the face of the boy was unmistakable, and his fellow Slytherins did their best to hold back their glares. Slytherins stood as a united front against the world, but they really hated when their classmates lost them points. Especially their classmates with dirty blood. If they had their way, only purebloods would be in Slytherin, and their point total would be far ahead of what it was now.</p>
<p>    "Yes, Professor?" Tom finally spoke. Merlin, how many times had Dumbledore called his name? He couldn't let anyone see how frazzled he was. He tried to show a neutral face, a student trying to pay attention but perhaps drifting off, but he feared it came across as apathetic.</p>
<p>    "I will ask again," Dumbledore said, and Tom resisted the urge to physically cringe. "What spell is used to turn metal into gold?"</p>
<p>    Silence. What was it? They were studying this last week. How could he forget? He always reviewed spells after class. He always read and reread the chapters of the textbook they went over so he could answer every teachers' questions.</p>
<p>    That is, for the textbooks he still had. He was sure that Corvus had misplaced his Transfiguration books several days ago. He meant to get around to finding them. He'd been spending too much time in his dorm, avoiding the embarrassment of constantly tripping over his own feet. He was sure Corvus was involved in that as well.</p>
<p>    "Mr. Riddle?"</p>
<p>    The silence was running too long. Tom's face blushed.</p>
<p>    "I don't know, sir."</p>
<p>    A sigh from Dumbledore.</p>
<p>    "And the homework for this week?"</p>
<p>    Shit. He did the homework. He was sure of it. Where was it though? He could have sworn he left it on his desk. He also could have sworn he left his textbook on his desk.</p>
<p>    Maybe he didn't do the homework after all. Did he? He was sure he did. But maybe that was last week's homework. After all, he'd been so focused on catching Corvus stealing his books that he lost focus on everything else. How could he forget?</p>
<p>    Dumbledore always collected homework at the end of the week. How did he forget to check that he had it before he came to class? Right, he was obsessing about just leaving the dorms - thought too much about falling over and embarrassing himself again that he neglected to remember what day it was and what class he was even heading to.</p>
<p>    The ensuing silence was answer enough for Dumbledore.</p>
<p>    "20 points from Slytherin." At the groans from his classmates, Riddle really did run a hand through his hair, and Dumbledore held up his hand for silence. "Mr. Riddle, this is the fifth time you've neglected to do the homework. Just because you did well first year does not mean you get to slack off now. Detention tonight after dinner."</p>
<p>    Riddle didn't bother to reply, and Dumbledore continued with the lesson.</p>
<p>    Where the fuck was his Transfiguration textbook?</p>
<p>    ~~~</p>
<p>    The common room was quiet when Tom returned from his detention with Dumbledore. His hand ached from copying lines from Transfiguration texts. At least he didn't have to do anything degrading like cleaning cauldrons. Nevertheless, he didn't want to stick around for Corvus to embarrass him again and quickly made his way to the dorm rooms.</p>
<p>    "Tom, wait." He stopped walking and stiffened but did not turn around. What could Corvus possibly want from him after all that?</p>
<p>    "You forgot to take your essay and textbook with you. You left them in the common room again," Corvus said, and Tom slowly turned around to see the boy holding his things out to him.</p>
<p>    Tom took his parchment and book without a word.</p>
<p>    Harry smiled at him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was planning to do some editing to flesh out some plot points, add more scenes, do some foreshadowing, remove some nonsense... but ahhhh fuck it. This story was just an exercise in forcing myself to do something.</p>
<p>FYI: Harry is a year above Tom's at Hogwarts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ending Year 2/3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An extra chapter as my apology for being lazy about updating.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time the school year was ending, Riddle had managed to salvage his grades. Unfortunately, it came with his descent on the Slytherin social ladder. If he avoided Lestrange, he could avoid humiliation. If he kept an eye on his meager possessions, they could not be stolen.</p>
<p>    And so, Tom Riddle spent nearly every waking hour (and all the sleeping ones too) locked up in his dorm room. His year mates began to pretend he did not exist lest they get spooked by his watching eyes.</p>
<p>    It was only temporary. He repeated those words to himself when he was alone, itching to step outside, to just go on a walk. Over the summer, he would make a more permanent plan to outsmart Corvus. A foolproof one. For now, he read and reread his textbooks and went above and beyond in all his essays, especially any that went to Dumbledore.  The old bastard even gave him extra points on his last discussion on some basic concepts of Transfiguration theory.</p>
<p>    The thought of failing scared him. He didn't think it would back when he mused about the idea in first year, but he saw now just how quickly his classmates turned on him. His grades had been proof that he was worth something: not just some damn orphan with ambitions too big for his head. He had thought he could cover up any failures with some charm, but evidently he needed more social practice. He wasn't going to get any in this situation though, holed up in his room. Lestrange was making sure of that.</p>
<p>    He just had to hold out until summer.</p>
<p>    Speaking of summer, he had to speak to the headmaster. A quick tempus delivered the time: 5:05 in the morning. Too early? He'll risk it. Hopefully, Headmaster Dippet was an early bird down for breakfast. Hopefully, Corvus was not.</p>
<p>    As time would tell, he was too early. Nearly an hour and a half wasted in the Great Hall. At least there was toast for him to eat, but he couldn't stop himself from constantly glancing at the doors.</p>
<p>    ~~~</p>
<p>    Harry woke up and stretched. Let out a yawn. Scrubbed at his face and looked around the room. All the other third years were already at breakfast.</p>
<p>    Tempus: 10 o'clock.</p>
<p>    Harry blinked and cast the spell again. Wow. Harry woke up early for a typical weekend morning. He lied back down to snooze a bit more. If he had to say anything good about the Slytherin dorms, it was that there was no snoring Ron around to rouse him out of bed.</p>
<p>    ~~~</p>
<p>    "Going home may do you some good, Mr. Riddle." Dippet shook his head at the young boy. Both of them glanced away uncomfortably, not noticing the other's response. Tom: swallowing his pride for this one request. Dippet: avoiding the desperation and nervous air the boy was exuding.</p>
<p>    "Please, Headmaster. Isn't there any way I could stay at Hogwarts?" Merlin, was he going to have to beg? Could this year get any worse?</p>
<p>    Dippet looked back at the boy. Tom Riddle. Something was going on with him. He started off so bright, so charming. Absolutely no problems his first year. A model student even. Dippet would have put money on him becoming a prefect and Head Boy in later years.</p>
<p>    The boy just seemed nervous and shifty now. He was trying to hide it behind a mask of indifference, but there was no hiding the paleness of his skin and that gaunt frame of his. Staying inside and refusing to socialize, even for meals, had a physical effect on the boy as well as mental.</p>
<p>    Dippet knew the Slytherin house could be cruel. Was Tom Riddle being bullied, tormented? An unknown orphan in a house of blood purists? The Headmaster's years of experience led him to that conclusion, and they led him to another one: getting away from the place of torment and back to a familiar world could do more good than having a professor interfere in the politics of children and cause more havoc for the boy.</p>
<p>    Dippet shook his head again.</p>
<p>    "I'm sorry, Mr. Riddle. You must return home for the summer."</p>
<p>    Tom nodded stiffly and headed back to the Slytherin dorms. He nearly tripped on his way down the stairs into the dungeons.</p>
<p>    Corvus was not around this time.</p>
<p>    Riddle refused to admit to himself that he was feeling anything other than his usual apathy.</p>
<p>    ~~~</p>
<p>    The train ride from Hogwarts was uneventful. Really, Harry was bored at this point. Going through school again was a nightmare he had to smile through, and Riddle was isolating himself better than Harry could have.</p>
<p>    Maybe he had started off too harsh.</p>
<p>    Too harsh? All he did was trip Riddle around and steal his homework. The boy should be grateful he didn't break his nose and throw him to the ground and kick him and beat him and break his bones.</p>
<p>    Deep breath. Forget Dudley and his gang.</p>
<p>    Riddle was just a twelve year old boy with no money or family in a very judgemental environment right now. Not a terrorizing mass murderer. Not even a homicidal teenager.</p>
<p>    Harry was doing just fine. He needed to think about his long term plans now and think about Riddle later.</p>
<p>    He wanted to go back to his body. Not Corvus Lestrange anymore. Just Harry Potter. He wanted his family, his friends, his home, his time period. Was it possible? If it was, he definitely wasn't going to find any information on it in a regular old textbook.</p>
<p>    After some quiet thinking in the rumbling train, Harry's brain unfolded a plan.</p>
<p>    The Unspeakables. If anybody knew how he could get back, it would be them.</p>
<p>    Harry sighed. Maybe it was destiny that he would end up in a Slytherin's body. Or not. Ravenclaw would have been just as good. He'll need to do a lot of studying as well as schmoozing to get anywhere near the Department of Mysteries in this lifetime.</p>
<p>    Just another slice of torture in this personal Hell of his.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love how Tempus is such an accepted fanon spell lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Summer I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riddle was almost happy to see Wool's Orphanage. Almost. He still hated the damn place, but at least Lestrange wasn't here.</p>
<p>    Walking into the ugly building and remembering all his awful days here, Tom laughed. Really and truly laughed. The other children scattered at the sight of him, and he let out another chuckle.</p>
<p>    A curious thing happened in Tom Riddle's brain that summer. Sitting at the top of the food chain clicks one's brain into a different frame of reference. Tom's own mind had clicked and clicked and clicked from predator to prey and back to predator, and something snapped in that little switching mechanism.</p>
<p>    It was all so simple really. He understood it in his bones, but he was having difficulty verbalizing it. How could he explain it to himself? All his wasted time and wasted effort. All he had to do was send a zap of magic through his hands and leave deep, pulsating burns on screaming Billy's arm.</p>
<p>    (He spilled the pot of boiling water on himself while cooking. What a klutz Billy was. Really, Matron. That's really what happened. I swear.)</p>
<p>    Why hadn't he seen it at Hogwarts? Why had it taken a year of humiliation for him to realize what he already knew?</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    Tom sat outside a lot that summer. The other children kept a wide berth, but they couldn't resist glancing at him and whispering. He normally stayed inside and read books all day. He only interacted with them when forced through chores, and now they all had to keep an eye on him lest their balls and toys rolled anywhere near him. It was quite annoying really. Nobody dared say that out loud around Tom though. At all really. Some were even convinced that Tom's witchcraft included mind reading, so they quickly thought of strawberries and bunnies and anything besides Tom when glancing at the boy.</p>
<p>    The boy in question ignored all the stares and stretched out underneath the great tree in the yard. It was very lovely and provided plenty of shade from the sun, but he thought he might take a stroll around the building soon. It felt wonderful to stretch his body.</p>
<p>    His peace was interrupted by a shivering of leaves and a hiss.</p>
<p>    "Oh, what do we have here?" He said in his own hiss, brushing back leaves and debris around the tree. He didn't notice Mary, a sweet little eight year old whose parents recently died, grasp at her tiny beating heart in fear as he lifted a glistening brown snake in his arms.</p>
<p>    The creature was nearly a foot long, and Tom admired its scales as it slithered around his body.</p>
<p>    "Do you have a name?"</p>
<p>    A hiss from the snake. A hiss from the human.</p>
<p>    "How about Nagini then?"</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    It was a disgusting day when Tom Riddle found the words he was searching for. Hot and humid, summer greeted the orphanage with sweat and the stink that comes with it. Muddy ground and overcast skies didn't help any matters, but the children were saved from pure misery by the arrival of book donations.</p>
<p>    It wasn't the excitement of getting baked treats and toys, but it was better than nothing. The books were often tattered, marked up, or boring, but to a group of orphans, they could make do.</p>
<p>    Tom made his way to the front of the group to take a pick. He hadn't needed to shove or push; the others did that for him themselves.</p>
<p>    His eyes scanned the small piles. There. Dusty and relatively new looking. They always got a donation of classics from a student or whoever who got these books to look smart yet never got around to reading them. Not always Tom's first choice of genre, but certainly a better chance to find a gem there than among the penny dime novels in the rest of the stacks.</p>
<p>    And that is how Tom Riddle, curled up under a tree at Wool's with Nagini wrapped around his arm, came to read the following paragraph:</p>
<p>    "Upon this a question arises: whether it be better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with. Because this is to be asserted in general of men, that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as you succeed they are yours entirely... and men have less scruple in offending one who is beloved than one who is feared, for love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails."</p>
<p>    A spark fluttered between the boy's fingers, and he closed his eyes. He had tried both. He had tried to get love at Hogwarts. Love and respect and admiration, but it was all destroyed and ruined so quickly. Nobody would look at him the same way after the past year of paranoia and isolation. A few slip ups, and Slytherin was ready to eat him, the failing Mudblood, alive.</p>
<p>    No. He had to take the route of fear. It worked fantastically. Just look at his work at the orphanage.</p>
<p>    Nagini hissed against Tom's ear, and he smiled.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    As Tom rediscovered his confidence and strength, Harry, in another part of the country, learned what it meant to grow up with magical parents.</p>
<p>    It was fucking awful.</p>
<p>    His branch of the Lestrange family was insane.  Truly lost their marbles crazy. Scheming and plotting all day long. Dark rituals and magic all night.</p>
<p>    So much blood. He didn't know the human body could hold so much blood. It doesn't seem possible. Do the rituals give them more blood? Why would he need more blood? This much?</p>
<p>    Harry felt his mind was on the verge of breaking - it had been a month and a half since the start of summer, since the start of dark magic forcing itself through his veins and soul, since the start of slashing his own flesh - and he fled the ritual circle and ran out the manor. Healed his cuts. The hundreds of cuts. Cleaned the blood. So much. His hands were stained red. Was it all his?</p>
<p>    Self sacrifice. When love of oneself trumps love of others, what else is there to give? Dark magic needed sacrifice: one's own blood, own sweat, own mind.</p>
<p>    He came back home in a week. Corvus's father found him. Crucioed him until he passed out and dragged him home.</p>
<p>    They let him sit out the dark rituals after that. Corvus overheard his body's mother telling his body's father that she knew it was too early to involve the boy. The boy being Corvus. Of course. Corvis's father acquiesced after some silence. Well, that was nice of them. They kept talking, of their hope for Corvus's future, and Harry slowly creeped to the door, closed it, and went to bed.</p>
<p>    Their relative kindness in stopping the rituals didn't stop them from engaging in other noble and pureblood extracurricular activities however. Finding him a wife, for example. They took to that with a frenzy throughout the summer now that he had passed the age of 13.</p>
<p>    They finally settled with a family that would secure a good business deal in trading high quality potions ingredients. Her name was Lyra Black. She was eight years old.</p>
<p>    Harry felt sick, and he emptied his mind like Snape had instructed him in their Occlumency lessons. It was easier to put effort into it when he actively wanted to block so many thoughts. He needed to learn now. If he didn't, his blood would start boiling. Harry didn't know what he would do if he completely lost control.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Year 3/4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was something wrong with Tom Riddle.</p>
<p>    The whispers rippled through the Great Hall at the start of term feast. Riddle sat alone in the center of the Slytherin table, empty spaces around him like a reverse black hole, rejecting everything and leaving a chill in the air.</p>
<p>    He hadn't done anything. Not yet. For some reason, everyone just felt off near him. A dark aura, normally so comforting for most Slytherins and even many Ravenclaws, left nothing but an ache in their guts. Blood itched within anyone who came near. Not enough to warrant a suspicion of Dark Arts, but enough to make students choose a different place to sit.</p>
<p>    Something was wrong with Corvus too, but nobody took note. It's the typical wrongness of a child from a deeply dark family: a little bit wild, a little bit shifty. Tugging at robe sleeves to hide the evidence. Harry thought of Ginny, of home, of happy magic, and of the gold and red of Gryffindor. He would survive this like everything else in his life.</p>
<p>    People did take note, however, when he took a seat across from Riddle. He recognized something in those dark eyes. Sighed as his heart sank.</p>
<p>    This was the omen he saw in those memories. The boy who strung up a rabbit for revenge and who murdered his living family in a fit after rejection. The boy who terrorized a whole building of orphans and adults and who unleashed a basilisk in a castle of students. The anger and insanity of Voldemort inside the boy named Tom.</p>
<p>    Is this a worse timeline? Had he pushed Riddle to rise sooner rather than stamping him down?</p>
<p>    It was clear, at the very least, that a new game had to be played.</p>
<p>    Corvus stood up and leaned over the table, bringing himself closer to the third year boy. Riddle watched him without fear but with plenty of caution as Corvus flicked his wrist to erect a silencing barrier around them with his wand. An oppressive silence hung between them, and there was no hope for any potential eavesdroppers.</p>
<p>    "You aren't special," Harry hissed to Tom. With another flick, the sound of the Great Hall rushed back in. Corvus sat back down and proceeded to enjoy the feast as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just spoken in Parseltongue.</p>
<p>    Riddle, wide-eyed but betraying no other emotion, watched him until they were all sent off to their common rooms.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    The unease around Riddle wore off by the next day. It must have been a trick, some simple charm or glamour, for them all to feel so strange. A good night rest shelved the students' anxiety. It almost made them believe it hadn't existed at all.</p>
<p>    A fellow third year tried to steal Riddle's potions book the next morning. It was good fun last year. Why not start up the game again?</p>
<p>    Riddle had gone out for breakfast early like normal, his books left unguarded by the bed. It really wasn't difficult to just walk by and grab one.</p>
<p>    Perhaps that should have been the first red flag.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    The students, some ready to take on their first class of the day and others merely resigned to survive it, slowly trickled away from the Common Room.</p>
<p>    Riddle pushed past them. He needed to grab his books before heading to class. His intention hadn't been to cut it so close to class time, but he was so absorbed in the book on rudimentary curses he had found in the library that he hadn't realized how long his morning exploration stretched.</p>
<p>    Missing. The boy gazed around his property in the dorm room once more and sighed. One book missing in his pile of belongings.</p>
<p>    Well, he had given them one last chance at least. He had hoped they would get the hint at the Welcoming Feast, but they had all failed his first test.</p>
<p>    He needed to get his hands on a Potions book within the next ten minutes. He certainly wasn't going to repeat the fluke that was his last year's performance.</p>
<p>    First, however, he had to feed Nagini. Striding to his trunk, Riddle deactivated the curse pulsing over it and levitated a mouse from his pocket over the open storage. Nagini loved mice. Tom released the stasis freezing the little thing from movement and let it, scurrying around, drop to the bottom of the trunk.</p>
<p>    Nagini loved playing with her prey as well.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    Richard Rosier would be late to class if he didn't leave immediately, but it was worth it to make sure his pet was cared for and safe. Hilda was a charming little gray cat gifted to him by his parents to be his familiar. He always made sure that she was safely in his dorm and not running around the castle chasing Merlin knows what while he was in class; the number of galleons it cost to get her made his anxiety rise up whenever he thought about it, and he was sure his parents would kill him if he neglected her.</p>
<p>    A hand shot out and grabbed his arm as he was leaving the dungeons. It pulled him back in, and he was too shocked to have the sense of mind to draw his wand.</p>
<p>    "Riddle?" Rosier said, even more surprised. This classmate of his had hardly crossed his mind in recent months. The promise of his first year brilliance had faded quickly last year, and with it, Rosier's interest. He glanced around the Common Room and noticed they were the last two left.</p>
<p>    "I need a potions book," Riddle said. The boy stared at Rosier expectantly, never releasing his arm. Silence stretched between them, and eventually Rosier raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>    "And? We're going to be late to class."</p>
<p>    "Give me yours." Riddle's eyes burned something dark, and for a second - just a second - something cold shivered through Rosier's skull. Then, he scoffed. Everyone knew how pathetic Riddle was last year. Did he really think he could intimidate him now?</p>
<p>    "No," Rosier said simply while attempting to break free of Riddle's grasp. The boy held on strong, unnaturally strong, and Rosier began to think that something was terribly wrong with the boy.</p>
<p>    Anger flared within Tom Riddle. How dare this nobody look down on him with such contempt? Was he not even worth an ounce of caution? A moment of thought to assess his strength? How dare he mock him?</p>
<p>    "Suit yourself."</p>
<p>    With those words, Rosier's knees buckled, and he crashed to the ground. Riddle, standing and leaning over his twitching body, still gripped his arm. The flesh of Rosier's arm bubbled beneath Riddle's grasp and fire ran through his body.</p>
<p>    Tom Riddle laughed and finally let go.</p>
<p>    Stooping down to pick up a forgotten Potion book, Riddle hovered over Rosier for just a moment longer. Riddle's face was neutral again, and Rosier almost wondered if he had hallucinated that laugh in the sudden pain that consumed his body.</p>
<p>    "If you speak of this to anyone, I'll hang your precious kitten from the Astronomy Tower."</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    Rosier's parents sent him a new Potions book the week after, simultaneously scolding him in a letter for not following proper safety rules; it was all good and well to practice potion making, but one had to do it responsibly with an adult present to prevent a fire from burning his stuff and himself! Oh, and how was Hilda? Safe and well, they hoped.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    Mulciber was vomitting black sludge two weeks later, and Harry decided it was time to really step back into his cultivated role in this world. Voldemort's bully. Was that something to be proud of?</p>
<p>    Harry found Riddle, surrounded by open books, in the library. Hogwarts: a History. Mysteries of Hogwarts. Slytherin's Legacy. The Darkness of the Founding Four.</p>
<p>    Books all centering a specific topic. Of course. The Chamber of Secrets: Riddle had to actually do the heavy lifting of finding it. He didn't have the luxury of hearing voices in the wall like Harry had.</p>
<p>    "You need to cut it out," Corvus said, placing his hands on the table, eyes bright and narrowed at Riddle.</p>
<p>    Riddle just hummed and flipped the page of his book.</p>
<p>    What would Dudley do?</p>
<p>    Harry knocked over one of Riddle's stacks of books. They tumbled to the ground, oddly quiet and muffled, and Riddle finally looked up.</p>
<p>    "Cut what out?" His voice lacked the charm Harry expected. It was monotone and jarred him. This was not Tom Riddle, model student and future Head Boy. This was not Voldemort either, a crazed megalomaniac murderer. This was Tom Riddle from the orphanage, the boy who could make people hurt if he wanted them to.</p>
<p>    "The curse. Mulciber might die."</p>
<p>    "He won't die."</p>
<p>    "Just cut the curse. I found your book and put it back already."</p>
<p>    "I already have a book, Corvus." Riddle sighed and started levitating his knocked over books back into neat piles. "Besides, I don't want to stop it. He deserves it."</p>
<p>    Harry glared at Riddle. This was stupid. Stupid and dangerous. Tom was still just a boy; the curse could go haywire any minute and do far more that cause bone aches and disgusting bodily fluid ejection.</p>
<p>    "Suit yourself then."</p>
<p>    Harry took another long look at Riddle before leaving. The boy was back to reading, already ignoring him before he even left the table.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    Riddle was good, but he was still young and alone and lacking combat experience.</p>
<p>    Corvus didn't have a problem rounding up Mulciber and Rosier to corner the boy. After a few well-placed cutting curses, Tom lifted his own curse.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    "Glad to see you're back to yourself," Abraxas Malfoy said to him in passing. Corvus raised an eyebrow at him. An old friend, an ex-friend. Back when Corvus was Corvus and Harry wasn't.</p>
<p>    "Are you implying something?"</p>
<p>    Now it was Abraxas raising an eyebrow. Of course he was implying something. Slytherins were always implying something.</p>
<p>    "It gets easier," he said and placed a hand on Corvus' shoulder for a quick moment. A pulse of Dark magic.</p>
<p>    Harry snapped back into focus again.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    He may have been alone, but Tom was smart. Tom was talented. Tom was resourceful.</p>
<p>    As his cuts and bruises bloomed and blossomed, his year mates fell ill and sickly and weak.</p>
<p>    Tit for tat. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Tom smiled and ignored the pain. He had always had a talent for hurting people, somehow manifesting his hatred and disgust into "accidental" magic at the orphanage. He had even been able to replicate some crude bursts of magic here against other students, as evident by Rosier's scars. With the library of Hogwarts at his disposal, Tom was sure he could sharpen himself into a feared weapon.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    It was a well known fact that Slytherins never snitched.</p>
<p>    Sometimes, Corvus wished a Slytherin would. He had only meant to hurt Tom. Did these other students deserve the pain as well? Getting caught up in their fights and blows, the students developed their own rivalries amongst the greater war. Was their complacency and acceptance of violence an indictment of their characters?</p>
<p>    There was dark magic in the air; Corvus could feel it stain the common room, and his mind flickered to home, to Lyra, to Tom.</p>
<p>    These students were not merely complacent: they were active participants, jumping on the chance to practice their secret arts for any reason that presented itself. Tom was nowhere to be seen, and yet darkness clung to the walls. Some sort of trap for him? For Corvus or for Tom? Or for someone else? They were the figureheads of this violent back and forth, but these were convenient times for the snakes to slip in revenge against each other.</p>
<p>    All this darkness, all this violence: all carefully hidden from the professors, from the other houses. How did nobody see it? It stabbed at Harry, made him sick even without Riddle's curses.</p>
<p>    These were the children that would grow into Death Eaters. It made sense, didn't it? Harry's mind suddenly felt clear again.</p>
<p>    He could not go easy on any of them.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    At the end of the year, Slytherin won the House Cup. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw clapped politely in spite of the silence at the Slytherin table.</p>
<p>    A Ravenclaw nudged her green-clad friend across the gap between the blue and green tables, and a weak celebration started amongst the snakes, the little movement jerking some members back into an awareness of the greater school scene.</p>
<p>    The Slytherins stared at each other, some ghostly pale and others hiding wounds, and one of the louder cheers from a third year Slytherin was cut off by the boy puking into his bowl.</p>
<p>    They all knew: there were no winners this year.</p>
<p>    ~~</p>
<p>    Tom Riddle did not want to leave Hogwarts, despite it all.</p>
<p>    Harry Potter, now Corvus Lestrange, did not want to leave Hogwarts either.</p>
<p>    They both had to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Summer II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bombs, explosions, war, violence: nothing else occupied Tom Riddle's time back at the orphanage. Even the hunger gnawing at his insides couldn't distract him from the constant thought of death. A rat scurried past the black gates of Wool's, and Tom wished he had the appetite of a snake as Nagini slithered by just as quick, sinking his fangs into the soft and furry flesh.</p><p>    It was cold. Outside, the air swirled with an incoming storm, both natural and man-made. Inside, Tom's guts twisted as the silence around him sent a chill through his bones.</p><p>    Despite the pain, the boredom, the humiliation, the violence: despite it all, he wanted to live. Living let him get revenge, let him escape this awful place. Living gave him hope for warmth and comfort and knowledge. Living gave him the opportunity to feel everything, both the positives and negatives of life.</p><p>    What was death? Nothing. No pain, no satisfaction. No boredom, no fun. No shame, no pride. A cessation of thought, of consciousness. The end of Tom Riddle. The end of everything he could be.</p><p>    He had come outside, running from the cold inside himself. The radio the matron left on had filled his head with useless thoughts. The armies, the bombs, the war. Would it come here? Would a muggle storm through the orphanage gates and shoot him dead? Would a bomb blow his mortal body to shreds before he could even comprehend it?</p><p>    Fear tainted his heart. It beat quickly inside him. His breathing came out in gasps. The sounds around him, the cold: he focused on it - the quiet rustling of fallen leaves, the biting snap of the breeze against his fingers and face.</p><p>    He was alive. He was scared. He watched Nagini eat her prey.</p><p>    How disgusting. So powerless again. What was the use of his magical studies against such massive destruction? Against the threat on his life?</p><p>    He needed more.</p><p>    ~~~</p><p>    Lyra was a quiet child. She belonged to the night; her hair was spun from strands of the black sky and the shine in her dark eyes was taken from borrowed stars.</p><p>    Harry was reminded of Luna in a way. Lyra had a whimsical air to her, and she seemed to float from room to room. She was still too young to join the dark ceremonies of their parents, but she took a liking to Divination.</p><p>    It was nothing like Trelawney's class or any of Harry's previous experiences with the subject. Lyra stared and stared at various objects, gleaning information from their shines, their cracks, their deficiencies. She walked away with hidden knowledge, only revealing her findings with a gentle smile and odd behavior. Once, Lyra had stared at a tree for 15 minutes, enough time to absolutely bore Harry, and then shoved him out of the way three weeks later when a wayward spell blasted the trunk and a large branch cracked and nearly collapsed on them.</p><p>    Harry and Lyra spent a lot of time together during the summer. They were betrothed after all. The thought still made Harry sick when his gaze slid past her childish form. He consoled himself with his plans of escape. Maybe Corvus was supposed to marry this child, but Harry refused the thought.</p><p>    He was still there, inside this wretched body poisoned by dark magic. Harry valued life and honor and friendships. He was still good inside. He was, wasn't he? He only participated in darkness when he was forced to, by his body's parents or Riddle's darkness.</p><p>    He would find a way out of this. The Lestrange family's wealth and underground connections would have been immensely useful in gaining an Unspeakable position, but Harry was losing to the corruption around him. He did not want this.</p><p>    Still, he could take advantage while he could. He had an allowance of Galleons that he squirreled away into a private bank account every month. It was truly an astounding amount for a teenager, but that spoke to the family's wealth rather than their financial irresponsibility.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    One day, Lyra made his blood run cold. They were sitting outside, enjoying the breeze and lack of candle smoke and the stench of blood, under that tree that nearly killed them. The girl, eyes wide despite the burning of the sun, was gazing up at the sky.</p><p>    She put her little hand on Corvus's and turned her eyes to his.</p><p>    "You can't leave. They'll kill me if you leave. There's no other purpose for me."</p><p>    She turned her eyes back to the sky. Serene as ever, she closed her eyes and fell into a nap, unnaturally quick and silent.</p><p>    Corvus blinked once, twice, and saw his hands dripping in red again. His vision clouded, and he looked up at the sky Lyra had gazed at only moments before.</p><p>    It was a beautiful day. Lyra did not deserve death.</p><p>    Harry stayed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Year 4/5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The train ride. The feast. The first lessons. There was an uneasy peace in Slytherin. Nobody wanted to draw first blood and be responsible for a repeat of last year.</p><p>    It was too exhausting, too frightening, too cold - even for a snake. The constant itching of one's blood, eyes wide and scanning for threats at all times. It made one twitchy and irate, never able to focus on matters of importance. They all wanted peace.</p><p>    All except for one. Tom Riddle. They all got what they deserved last year, in his own opinion. Those people who mocked him, disrespected him, ignored him? They deserved much worse in fact.</p><p>    Maybe even death.</p><p>    He was too busy to restart the civil war however. Quite unfortunate. Tom Riddle had research to do. So much research: the Chamber of Secrets, sources of magical power, curses of all kinds, eternal life. Maybe he would throw in some research on his enemy as well: he still hadn't forgotten about Corvus's hidden ability to speak Parseltongue.</p><p>    It was in one of his readings on obscure curses that he was struck with a thought so strange it made him freeze.</p><p>    He re-read the paragraph his eyes had just glossed over.</p><p>    Parseltongue was a hereditary trait, the book said, and so the following parsel curses were outlined for the sake of knowledge rather than any practical use for the majority of wizardkind.</p><p>    Was it possible? Was it possible that Corvus and he were related? Brothers? Cousins?</p><p>    Tom often felt angry, bored, or apathetic. Sometimes frightened, though he loathed to admit it. What did this make him feel? His chest was tight, his breathing short. Did he have a living family? Was this why Corvus tortured him? Some sick way of permanently keeping him away like the abandoned orphan he was? Keeping the tainted blood away?</p><p>    Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn't matter. He didn't need anything but his own strength to rise above all his enemies and the filth that should bow to him.</p><p>    He repeated those thoughts to himself, but a burning curiosity had been sparked within his chest. A family. A living family? Families cames with money, with connections, with support. An opportunity for blackmail, perhaps. All in all: power.</p><p>    Tom shook his head slightly and refocused his eyes on the text in front of him. Parsel curses. Those seemed useful, though he didn't have an immediate need for them. The book in front of him floated into his bag, and he pulled another from the stack beside him.</p><p>    Later in the same day, his eyes would glance over the mention of something called a Horcrux.</p><p>    Everything else in his mind washed away from the crash of that one word.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Harry was also busy with his own research. His kind of research kept him out of the library and out of the way of one Tom Riddle, however. His involved sneaking around corridors while disillusioned from sight and notice, eavesdropping on gossip and whispers. Participating in Slug Club and learning the right pretty words to say. Socializing with the elite. Writing letters to Lyra and her family.</p><p>    Harry had to become an Unspeakable. He couldn't stand being Corvus. He had to find a way back.</p><p>    Voldemort had gone insane from constantly splitting his soul. There was always something wrong with Tom Riddle, something flawed with his humanity, but the true turning point in the history of the Wizarding World came from a murder and broken soul.</p><p>    That's what Harry believed for the longest time. Not anymore.</p><p>    The Dark Magic and falseness of keeping up this charade must have been what did Tom Riddle in. Corvus could feel himself fracturing every day. His identity tied up and morphing and splitting based on whom he was talking to. The shaking of his limbs and blood to hide away and cut again, sacrificing more of himself for more power and something else. What was that something else? Harry wasn't sure, but Corvus felt a deep need for it. Dark Magic begged for more. A terrible feedback loop of violence and desire. An addiction he could not escape from despite never wanting it in the first place.</p><p>    Corvus didn't notice the long looks he got from Tom Riddle that year at the Great Hall.</p><p>    He had to make the right connections. He had to get access to the best time travel research. He had to get back to Harry's life.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    In all the darkness, Nagini was a delight in Tom's life. Isolated from his peers, he spent more and more time with the serpent.</p><p>    Nagini didn't care at all about Tom and would sink her venomous fangs into his flesh without regret if he ever dared to raise a hand to her. Tom felt similarly, though his own teeth lacked venom, and he had to make do with a wand.</p><p>    Luckily for them both, Tom rather enjoyed watching her stalk prey and frighten the other children, and Nagini was rather too lazy to make any grand plans against Tom. Being regularly fed was quite enough for her.</p><p>    Nagini wasn't much for a conversationalist, but all Tom needed was her company and the smooth slide of her scales over his neck and shoulders as he read. There was a gentle pressure sometimes, and he wondered if Nagini would ever try to kill him from pure impulse.</p><p>    It was almost like a hug though. As much as a hug as a snake could provide.</p><p>    Tom noticed the other students in the common room scooted even farther away from him at the appearance of Nagini, and he did not deign them with even a glance as he turned the page of his book.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Lyra was a sweet child, Harry decided. Too sweet to realize she was submerged and choking in filth. Everything about her reflected an innocence that should have vanished years ago.</p><p>    Harry didn't remember writing to her about his tremors and goals, but her letter, in that childish and looping writing of hers, to him was filled with advice for all his troubles.</p><p>    Dear Corvus,</p><p>    I am sorry to hear about your pain. Magic can hurt us if we don't feed Magic. I think you will feel better if you give Magic some food. I always feel better after a snack. Magic's favorite snack is blood of course, but if you are feeling sick I think Magic will accept meat too. It has to be fresh though! Magic will be very upset if you give Magic rotten or old meat. Imagine eating a sandwich with maggots in it! I think that would be very gross.</p><p>    Abraxas Malfoy has an uncle who is an Unspeakable. Did you know about that? I didn't until now, but it seems like something you want to know. Can you tell me why?</p><p>    I also had a dream about some boy. He really likes his pet snake. I would like a pet snake. They seem very cool. I saw you speak to a snake once. I can't remember if that was a dream though. Can you tell a snake to be my friend?</p><p>    Mother and Father say hello.</p><p>    With love,</p><p>    Lyra</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    And so, the two powerhouses of Slytherin kept to their work for most of the year, tucking their feud to the back of their minds. A heaviness in the air dominated Hogwarts, and their classmates tried not to choke as they caught their breath.</p><p>    They still had two more years together. Plenty of time to destroy one or the other.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Summer III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Another summer at the orphanage. Tom didn't even bother asking Dippet to stay at Hogwarts.  The senile man would have rejected the request, and Tom would have lowered himself for nothing.</p><p>    He had made preparations for this boring stretch of months however. His school trunk was filled to the brim with stolen library books, many from the restricted section.</p><p>    The discovery of Parsel magic was a great turning point for the boy. As an extremely rare form of magic, the school did not have many protections against it. In fact, all of Wizarding Britain seemed to lack protections against it.</p><p>    It was a wandless magic, fueled by the snake language and the intention of words. A hiss with thoughts of concealment - of the snake words for nest, danger, hiding - turned his trunk into a safe for all his stolen treasures. Hogwarts guarded itself against thievery, but its sightless eyes seemed to glance over a snake's hidden home.</p><p>    Nagini helped him often. Tom wasn't sure if she understood parsel magic as well, but her criticisms of his grammar and word choice in the language seemed to operate with the same logic the magic used.</p><p>    "Little big one, little big one," she hissed at him. "Speak 'prey.' 'Prey,' not 'danger.' No danger here."</p><p>    And so Tom hissed "prey" instead of "danger," and the little rabbit in the bushes swallowed its own tongue and choked to death.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Corvus is now fifteen, going on sixteen, and his family wants him to join them in their rituals again.</p><p>    Harry's first instinct is to say no, to run away, but he stills his tongue and thinks of Lyra. Feed Magic, she said. They'll kill me if you leave, she said. The strands of her swirling dark hair wrap his brain in a prison.</p><p>    It's easier now than it was his first summer in this body. Instead of breaking his mind and pushing him over the edge, the drip of his blood and the smell of candle smoke soothes and relaxes him. Another hit, and he's on cloud nine.</p><p>    Lyra is ten now, and sometimes he thinks he sees her in those dark dungeons under the manor, dancing around the rune circles with him and other friendly strangers connected to the family.</p><p>    The passage of time is distorted with these rituals though. Harry is never sure what he sees either. It almost feels like entire years pass in those wild nights.</p><p>    When he's not soaked to his eyeballs in dark magic, Harry gets the feeling that he's forgetting something. His summer work perhaps? He tries reading ahead in his textbooks, but the feeling never leaves.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Bombs. Bombs dropping on cities. People dying without warning everywhere, their bodies blasted to bits.</p><p>    Tom hated it. Tom was terrified. Not of the violence, not of the war: but of the threat to his own life. Must he suffer through this torment every summer? When would it end? When would these damn Muggles stop murdering each other?</p><p>    Nagini must have felt something despite Tom's lack of outward panic, and she squeezed her muscles around his shoulders.</p><p>    Tom took a deep breath. One, two - he timed his breathing with the slow movement of his serpent's scales against his skin, relaxing into her strange caress.</p><p>    No need to worry. All he needed was a Horcrux. He should make one soon. Nobody knew when their city was next to be demolished after all.</p><p>    No. He couldn't rush this. It was some of the darkest and most dangerous magic he knew. He can't end up killing himself by accident or getting caught. Not only would that horrifying end destroy him, but it would be an absolutely embarrassing way to go.</p><p>    How to ensure his success? There wasn't much information on the creation of Horcruxes. Would he be forced to experiment with such risky magic?</p><p>    Nagini let out a small hiss, and Tom thought: the Chamber of Secrets. What else is a bigger secret than a Horcrux? Perhaps he could find something there.</p><p>    Tom reached into his trunk and pulled out Hogwarts: A History. He must have missed a clue somewhere. He has to find that place.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Of course. Tom. Tom Riddle. How did Corvus forget about that? Where in the timeline is he? Riddle should be making his first Horcrux at some point, killing his own family, discovering the Chamber of Secrets, and murdering a poor student. When is that? Is it now? Or will it never happen now?</p><p>    Corvus is slammed back into the mind of Harry Potter, and he jolts in his place in the ritual circle.</p><p>    What is he doing? How did he get here?</p><p>    Lyra is in front of him. Something about the sight of her sends a wave of revulsion through him. Harry's throat burns with vomit.</p><p>    She is staring at him. He looks away and glances around. The runes, the candles, the inscriptions on the walls: he recognizes this. What is this? Nobody else is here, and he racks his brain for information.</p><p>    The marriage ritual. The ritual to ensure fertility, power, and loyalty between the couple to be. Harry's gaze sweeps across Lyra, and he does vomit.</p><p>    Merlin, she is still a child.</p><p>    He runs out the room and straight into his body's father. The man catches him by the shoulders and stares at his face. Harry is sweating, fighting to escape the grip, but the man won't let go.</p><p>    "He didn't complete the ritual, did he?" a feminine voice says from somewhere to his right.</p><p>    "I'm afraid not, dear," says the man. They both sigh as though deeply disappointed. Did they expect this? Their son had always had such a knack for dark and ritual magic since he was a boy. Something has changed lately though. He seems to be a different boy from the fearless one they raised.</p><p>    She must have been too soft on him. She should have insisted he continued his study of rituals instead of taking pity on his stress two years ago. Clearly it was a mistake.</p><p>    It was convenient that the marriage ritual did not require consent from either party. It wouldn't go as smoothly, but at least the vows of fidelity would take hold.</p><p>    "Imperio."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Year 5/6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The new school year started, and Tom was buried in his books again. He hissed more than he spoke now - it was unintentional really, but he enjoyed the disturbed and frightened expressions of his classmates - and his newest discovery in parsel magic absolutely delighted him.</p><p>    He wanted to do some exploring to look for the Chamber, but it wouldn't do to be accosted or bothered during his search. He closed his eyes and hissed sneak, sneak, sneak. Opening them, he was disappointed to see nothing affected. He walked into the common room, thinking of different phrases or words, and was toppled over by Abraxas Malfoy.</p><p>    Tom sprang up, ready to hiss a curse his direction, but Malfoy's absolute look of surprise stalled his tongue. Malfoy looked around wildly for a moment before coughing, straightening his robes, and continuing on like nothing happened.</p><p>    Fascinating. Tom tapped a seventh year's shoulder and when she turned around, she had a similar look of surprise. She glanced around behind her before shaking her head, apparently deciding she imagined the tap.</p><p>    Tom closed his eyes and hissed look, look, look. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know it worked: a shout of surprise from beside him let him know he was visible again.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Harry watched Tom's experiments with a detached sort of interest. What magic was this? He never saw Voldemort perform any of these tricks in his world.</p><p>    He tried the words himself: sneak, sneak, sneak. Abraxas came up him and slapped his shoulder. How was his summer? His summer? He ignored Abraxas and the stack of letters from Lyra in front of him.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Tom was sneaking around the seventh floor when he heard the sobbing of a girl. It was a strange sound: it echoed in the hallway, amplified by the acoustics of the castle and the lack of other beings around.</p><p>    What was a girl doing out at this time? Sneaking around? Tom wandered towards the sound, curious about this stranger's goal. If it was boring, he could just leave.</p><p>    Turning the corner, he saw a girl in Ravenclaw robes standing at the edge of a window. Her face was blotchy and streaked with tears, ugly in her misery and probably not much prettier in the daylight.</p><p>    Tom cast a silencing spell at his shoes and walked closer to the window.</p><p>    This girl was familiar to Tom, but he couldn't be bothered to remember her name. She was always crying and crying, bullied by her fellow Claws. Really, she deserved it for how annoying her crying was.</p><p>    It was so loud and grating. A headache was building in Tom's head, and he saw the girl sway back and forth by the window.</p><p>    Nagini tightened around his shoulders and hissed a word.</p><p>    Prey.</p><p>    Tom gave the girl a push, and with a scream she fell out the window.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Hogwarts hadn't had a suicide since 1875. With all the possibilities students had outside its halls, it was difficult to believe that a student existed who didn't have the slightest bit of hope even in the deepest pits of despair that bullying brought. Depression was a matter of getting addicted to Pepper Up potion. Difficult family circumstances were normal and simply a part of growing up. Really, there was no need for suicide.</p><p>    Myrtle's death thus gained no sympathy for her in the school's halls. She had no friends, and most people thought she was annoying. Those that didn't dislike her merely didn't care for her. One could only take so much of her crying.</p><p>    Corvus seemed oddly affected by her death however. He kept staring at the spot the girl would sit at during dinner.</p><p>    Did Fate exist? That question tumbled through Harry's mind. Was Myrtle meant to die in Hogwart's halls? Did Tom kill her somehow or did she really commit suicide? Did it matter if the end result was the same?</p><p>    Did anything he did here matter?</p><p>    A great black raven landed in front of him, knocking over his bowl of porridge he hadn't touched. A letter was tied to its leg, and when Harry unraveled the shimmering red ribbon, the bird took off and flew out of sight.</p><p>    He read the letter. He read it again. The words kept swimming before his eyes, but he couldn't quite seem to grasp the meaning.</p><p>    Lyra dead. Complications in child birth. His fault. The ritual was corrupted by his running away. His body's father, having hoped it wouldn't come to this. Disowned by the family.</p><p>    Harry looked up. Nothing felt real. Was anything real? Ever since he fell through the Veil, everything was wrong.</p><p>    He looked around. Tom. Where was Tom?</p><p>    Harry wanted to hurt him. Wanted to kill him. This was all his fault. No, he couldn't kill him. Harry would never stoop that low.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Tom was returning from one of his explorations. Still no Chamber, but surely he was getting closer. He'd ruled out half the school at this point.</p><p>    Maybe Nagini could slither through the walls for him, searching places he couldn't reach. Yes, that was an excellent idea. He'd have to tempt her with treats though; her laziness would incline her to reject his request.</p><p>    As he stepped through the door to the common room, he wondered if she was able to satisfy her curiosity. She had stayed behind tonight, saying she had something to investigate herself. He hadn't probed deeper, but as time went on he had grown more interested.</p><p>    His wonderings ceased.</p><p>    Nagini lay dead in the center of the common room. Her head was cut off. No other soul was around.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Harry found Tom the next morning at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He had watched the little sociopath walk out of the Slytherin dorms and go for a stroll, apparently unaffected by the previous night's event.</p><p>    No feelings of guilt filled Harry's heart. He thought they would, but slicing Nagini's head with a clean Diffindo felt right. If Fate was real, she met her proper end.</p><p>    Snakes weren't people either way. Harry had no reason to feel bad.</p><p>    Tom was kneeling on the ground. Harry watched him dig in the dirt for a moment before walking himself from the lake's edge to the boy's side. Tom didn't react at his approach, but there was a shift in the air as though his magic was ready for whatever Harry was bringing.</p><p>    Harry walked closer and closer, breaching any semblance of personal space. He stood behind Tom and leaned against him, wrapping his shoulders in a mock hug and squeezing gently.</p><p>    "Sad?" he hissed. Did Tom have any feelings for something besides himself, Harry wondered.</p><p>    Tom was silent for a breath.</p><p>    "No," he hissed back. He tried to turn around, but Harry held him in place. It was easy; Riddle was as thin as a stick, and those rituals of the Lestranges' weren't for nothing.</p><p>    "Nothing?" Harry unwrapped one hand to point to Tom's heart. It was difficult to find the right words in the snake language sometimes. Reptiles weren't inclined to participate in philosophical discussions.</p><p>    Tom nodded and pointed at his own heart.</p><p>    "Empty," he hissed.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Had Corvus lost his mind? Tom thought so. His behavior was irrational.</p><p>    Killing Nagini wasn't out of character for their feud (and, oh yes, he knew that bastard was the one who killed Nagini. Who else would dare?), but after that mocking conversation at the Forest, Corvus had taken to following him like a puppy.</p><p>    He couldn't shake him off, but Corvus seemed to have dropped all intentions of attacking him anymore. The teen just watched him all day. He was almost like a replacement Nagini, but Tom would really have preferred his snake.</p><p>    Now, he was inviting him to stay the summer with him. Out of his mind, clearly.</p><p>    "Would you rather die in the Muggle world? Blown to bits by a bomb?" Corvus' words sent a shock through Tom's heart. He hated how his enemy seemed to zone in on all his weaknesses like it was nothing.</p><p>    What was the game plan here? Attack him over the summer when he let his guard down? No, the trace would activate on any magic, and if he killed him, the school would surely launch an investigation as to why one of their smartest students was missing. It wouldn't take a genius to put two and two together about who did it.</p><p>    "Why?" he finally asked, and Corvus shrugged.</p><p>    "I don't want to be alone. You hate your home. Seems like a win-win."</p><p>    Tom had heard about the disownment and the death of the Black-Lestrange bride-to-be, but the words rang hollow. Surely Corvus could have asked any other Slytherin. He probably wanted to keep an eye on him like he had been doing for these last weeks of school.</p><p>    Was this due to their possible relation? Cast out from the family, was Corvus reaching out to the other cast out?</p><p>    For what purpose? Tom couldn't figure it out.</p><p>    Corvus did have money though. Tom did hate the orphanage.</p><p>    He could take him in a fight if it came down to it.</p><p>    "Okay," he hissed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Summer IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Summer found Tom and Harry living as roommates in a flat a few minutes from Diagon Alley.</p><p>    They did not interact often despite the small living space. Corvus paid for it with his savings from his allowance (unfortunately cut off now), and Tom stayed in bed most of the day, reading through more stolen books.</p><p>    It was a blessing to avoid the irritating children and chores of Wool's, but Tom's nerves were beginning to fray. Corvus was always around, always watching him. When would he pounce?</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Harry had no intention of pouncing. Not at the moment. Perhaps not in the future. He wanted to look at Tom, really see him in this timeline.</p><p>    Was he destined to be a Dark Lord? How could Harry stop something Fate wanted?</p><p>    When Tom fell asleep, Harry would sneak into his room and look over the texts he was reading. Often he found dense textbooks and old writings, but occasionally he would glance through some regular school assigned reading.</p><p>    Numerology and Grammatica. Most Macabre Monstrosities. Secrets of the Darkest Art. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Dark Arts: Limits to Power. Guide to Advanced Occlumency.</p><p>    Some innocent, some not. One definitely, definitely not.</p><p>    Harry held the Secrets of the Darkest Art in his hand and fell back against Tom's bed. This Tom definitely knew about Horcruxes. Did he make one yet? Maybe Nagini had been one. Or another diary. Harry hadn't seen this Tom write in a diary though.</p><p>    There was a stirring on the bed. Did he wake Tom? Harry dropped the book on the floor and climbed fully on to the bed.</p><p>    Tom was definitely awake and definitely watching him. Those dark eyes were so alive. Lyra had lively dark eyes too, but hers were dead now. She was probably buried by now, rotting away in the ground.</p><p>    Their hair was similar too. If Tom grew his out, it would probably be a near copy of Lyra's long locks. Harry carded his hand through Tom's hair. It felt the same as hers.</p><p>    Was Lyra meant to die too? Did his refusal not matter? He had never heard of a Lyra Lestrange or Lyra Black in his timeline. Did she die or did she never exist?</p><p>    Harry lied down beside Tom and closed his eyes. Running his fingers through this hair, it was almost like she was still here.</p><p>    Harry didn't want Lyra to die. She was so innocent. Could he have done anything? Yet here was Tom, still alive. Tom, the opposite of innocent, still breathing.</p><p>    He wasn't angry. That's just how life was sometimes, wasn't it? Good people died and bad people lived. Maybe Fate controlled it, and Harry couldn't do anything about it. Harry still didn't want to kill Tom. Harry didn't want to taint himself with Tom's death.</p><p>    He needed to sleep. His mind was going in circles. He could think of a plan in the morning. No death, but no Dark Lord either. How?</p><p>    Harry fell asleep.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Was Tom concerned? Perhaps. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling besides confusion.</p><p>    He was rooming with an insane person, he knew that at least. When he finally heard Corvus' breathing level out into that of a sleeping man's, he untangled his fingers from his hair and slipped out of the bedroom.</p><p>    The couch would have to do for tonight.</p><p>    Tomorrow he would figure out how to do a locking charm with Parsel magic. It was trivial with a wand, but the trace on underage magic would bring more trouble than he wanted. Parsel magic seemed to fly under the radar, but what snake words could he use with the intention of "lock?"</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Harry woke up in Tom's bed with a start. He had dreamed of Lyra. She had visited him from beyond the grave, he was sure. She was always able to do those odd supernatural tricks of hers. This must have been easy for her too.</p><p>    In her hands had been a book. A book on rituals. Rituals of what kind? She had smiled and him and run away before he could get a closer look. He let her run. He didn't want to hurt her again.</p><p>    Wakefulness came then, and Harry's brain whirled. Rituals, rituals, rituals. No murder, but no Dark Lord either.</p><p>    An idea came into his head. It was funny actually; the idea was based on something that Voldemort's own propagandists said was possible. Harry hoped it was. It would solve everything.</p><p>    He grabbed a coat and left the flat. Maybe Knockturn would have information on it?</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Tom was awakened by Corvus once more. His roommate had barked a loud laugh from Tom's room, evidently still in the bed, and soon walked out the door without a word to Tom.</p><p>    Insane indeed.</p><p>    At least Corvus stayed out of the house often after that strange night. Tom was happy to read alone in peace.</p><p>    When the next school year was upon them, Tom was ready to try out a variety of new spells and curses. Corvus was evidently excited about something too, his foot constantly tapping an irritating tune, but Tom avoided conversing with the other about whatever it was that caught his attention.</p><p>    As long as his attention wasn't on Tom, the world seemed fine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hehe, this is the point where I realized my original plot went off the rails &amp; I decided I didn't care enough to do some rewriting and changes! Ah well, it was fun at least.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Year 6/7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The castle was almost back to normal. There was always a tension in the air around Corvus and Tom, but their feud had seemed to fizzle and evaporate; their lack of attacks took much of the violence in their year away, as many other Slytherins with revenge on their minds couldn't hide away behind the excuse of getting caught in the crosshairs.</p><p>    Corvus and Tom were almost friendly now, and many of their classmates burned to ask them about it. Corvus was unhinged though, and Tom was plainly violent and dangerous to approach. Someone nudged Abraxas to find out what had happened, but the blond boy had just shaken his head in refusal, gazing upon his old friend and wondering what had happened.</p><p>    Dark magic sometimes took a person's sanity as its price for their power, but Abraxas had always thought that Corvus was a natural. He never seemed to have issues with it until the past few years. It was a tragedy really.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    "Tom!" Corvus called his name as he left their Transfiguration classroom. It was about two months into the school year, and nothing spectacular had happened. Tom paused in the doorway. Now? Would Corvus try something now, right under Dumbledore's watchful eyes?</p><p>    "Yes?" he hissed. The other lingering students scattered. Good. Dumbledore seemed to glare at him from inside the classroom. Also good.</p><p>    "I have something I want to show you. Can you meet me at the second floor after dinner?"</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Tom did meet him at the second floor, and when Corvus led him to a girl's bathroom, he just sighed. Corvus was really gone with his loopyness.</p><p>    "Trust! Trust!" Corvus hissed and motioned to the bathroom again. Tom just stared at him.</p><p>    "Okay, not trust then," Corvus said in regular English. They stared at each other for a moment, and Tom turned around to walk away.</p><p>    "Tom, wait." Corvus grabbed at his arm, and Tom resisted the urge to jerk away. Tom could hurt Corvus if he wanted to. It was fine. No need to upset the insane person he was dealing with.</p><p>    Tom raised an eyebrow at him instead.</p><p>    "The Chamber of Secrets. It's in there," Corvus said and pointed at the bathroom again. Tom blinked.</p><p>    Was this a joke?</p><p>    Evidently not. They walked in, and with a hissed "open" from Corvus, the sinks began to clink away to reveal an underground passageway.</p><p>    Tom blinked again. Corvus grinned at him.</p><p>    Insanity.</p><p>    ~~</p><p>    Getting Tom to the Chamber wasn't as difficult as Harry expected. The boy had followed him without question for the most part, and only seemed to show caution when a potentially embarrassing situation appeared.</p><p>    Tom was really confident now, wasn't he? He had magical strength - some odd form of magic involving parseltongue that he had cultivated in his solitude - and clearly saw Harry as nothing more than a loon. Most of the school saw Corvus as a charity case at this point. Harry's initial plans of stomping down Tom's spirit and becoming an Unspeakable were clearly ruined. Too bad he was never good at schmoozing. That's what growing up a Gryffindor instead of a Slytherin did to a person.</p><p>    The Chamber was dark and musty, but it was free of the bones that littered it in Harry's original time. Nobody had woken the Basilisk yet, and if everything went right, nobody would.</p><p>    The darkness aided Harry's plan. It wouldn't do if Tom noticed the runes inscribed all over the ground and walls and recognized them fast enough to run.</p><p>    Tom did not hesitate in walking around. Harry couldn't quite see his expression, but he was sure what he could expect: Tom's almost bored face, but with wide, glittering eyes taking in the massive room before him.</p><p>    What was he thinking about? Perhaps Horcruxes were on his mind. This would be a wonderful place to make one in: private, isolated, accepting of dark magic.</p><p>    "Have you explored this place?" Tom asked, and Harry shook his head. The silence stretched between them, and Harry realized it was too dark for him to have seen his response.</p><p>    "A bit," he said, and his voice was loud, too loud. Tom's footsteps stopped.</p><p>    "Come here," Harry said into the darkness. "There's another room here I want to show you."</p><p>    More silence. Was Tom looking at the runes? Did he know what he was looking at? Harry pulled out a small blade from his robes. The silence stretched, and Harry began to sweat.</p><p>    "Tom?" he tried. Footsteps. Slow, but approaching.</p><p>    Tom was being careful, but not careful enough. The boy had too much confidence, too much pride. Too much belief in Harry being crazy, but not powerful in his own right.</p><p>    When Tom was within arm's reach, Harry grabbed him and sliced Tom's hand with the blade.</p><p>    "What?" Tom hissed, too surprised to think of a parsel spell. He had expected a magical attack, not a physical one. One to his throat, not to his hand.</p><p>    Harry pushed the boy's bleeding hand to the ground, right at the center of a carved sigil.</p><p>    The carving began to glow red, and the ones around it lit up as the blood pooled to them. Tom shook off Harry and blasted him away with a hiss of "danger, danger, danger," but Corvus just let out a laugh as he hit the wall.</p><p>    All those hours and days and weeks spent scratching runes into the walls and floors: it was worth it to see them all slowly light up like this, bathing Tom and him in a warm bath of red glow. Tom had stood up now, looking wildly around himself at all the glowing runes.</p><p>    Tom's breathing was quickening, and he couldn't get the blood to stop flowing from his hand. No parsel magic or Episkey was working. His knees gave out under him, and he fell to the floor.</p><p>    Harry walked back over to him, and he could hear Tom hissing "danger, danger, danger" again. No blast knocked him away this time.</p><p>    Tom was panicking. Harry could see it in his face, in his body: the way his lungs gasped for air and his eyes searched everywhere for an answer.</p><p>    Harry ran his fingers through Tom's hair. Was that comforting? Harry always liked it when Ginny did that to him.</p><p>    "Tom, don't worry," he said, and Tom seemed to worry more. He closed his eyes, and as he tried to draw in deep breaths against the floor, something sounding like a sob choked out of him. "Tom, it's okay. You're not dying."</p><p>    Harry sat down with Tom and waited for him to pass out. Objectively, this must be a terrifying experience for him. Feeling weaker and weaker, pain lancing through his veins, his grasp on consciousness slipping: it must have felt like the approach of death to an unsuspecting boy.</p><p>    Some minutes passed of this struggling, and Tom looked as though he were on the verge of tears. Harry didn't feel bad, but he wished it would end sooner: he never did like watching pain. He had weak moments of vindictiveness and bitterness, but they usually passed quickly and never stickied to the idea of torture. He only did what he considered necessary.</p><p>    Eventually, the runes' glow began to dim, and Tom went with them. Not to death of course. Just sleep.</p><p>    Harry looked at the boy.</p><p>    Was this enough? Maybe. Maybe not. Better to be safe. Harry didn't want to think of another plan later down the road.</p><p>    He sent a bone shattering curse to Tom's legs. He saw that one in one of Tom's books this summer. Karma may have guided his hands.</p><p>    Tom was looking rather pale though. Harry should hurry up. He picked him up, nearly dropped him, and then started his way back to the school hallway.</p><p>    At least it was all over now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The events of the 1943 school year became something of a legend at Hogwarts. Newer generations refused to believe in such scary tales, but the older students insisted it really happened. It was fairly difficult to tell the absolute truth of what happened though since it was all so hush-hush to keep the good reputation of the school.</p><p>    The official story is that two students got caught using Dark Magic and were subsequently expelled. Dippet made a big speech about not straying from the principles of kindness and being good and to avoid the temptation of greedy power. Very wishy-washy stuff, if you asked the sixth and seventh years who went through the violence and bullying and drama tied up in their school years attached to the Riddle and Lestrange boys.</p><p>    The actual story, according to the gossiping Gryffindors and the scheming Slytherins, was far worse.</p><p>    Apparently, Corvus Lestrange - you know him right? That boy who went crazy after his fiance died and his family disowned him? - discovered the Chamber of Secrets and lured Tom Riddle - remember him? The awful boy who hissed at everything? He broke Black's arm in third year! - into it. They had always been fighting, you remember of course, but towards the end there they were quite good friends. They even spent the summer together, could you believe that?</p><p>    Anyway, so Riddle was lured into the Chamber, and Corvus had set a trap for him. It must have taken ages; apparently the ritual he used required at least two hundred runes to be carved into the ritual room! How do I know that? Come on, don't be difficult. I heard from Malfoy that it was something like that. Where can you learn more about it? Hey! Don't be creepy! I'm not telling you that!</p><p>    So going back to the story, they scuffle for a bit when Tom notices it's a trap or something, and somehow Corvus wins and activates the ritual with Tom's blood. Lucky that he didn't get his own blood anywhere on it! I've nicked my finger once or twice trying to carve a rune myself.</p><p>    Get to the point? Shut up! I'm the one telling the story! Go away, Malfoy.</p><p>    ...</p><p>    Okay, he's gone. Right, so this ritual, it's very old, isn't it? Very difficult to find information about. Most books about it were destroyed because Muggles actually got a hold of it! Muggles! Can you believe that? Those bastards, always stealing our magic.</p><p>    Hm? Oh right, yeah, the ritual was to steal Riddle's magic! Crazy, right? Why did Corvus need more magic? Apparently he was quite a powerhouse already if he stood a chance against Riddle.</p><p>    People do say he was crazy. I guess that explains it.</p><p>    Wait! Yeah, there's more. Not only did Lestrange steal this poor boy's magic, but he also broke his legs! He said that was a side effect of the ritual when questioned, but really, who believes that?</p><p>    Poor Riddle. We all hated him, but come on. With all his magic gone, the healers couldn't use potions on him to fix his legs. He was basically a Muggle now. He had to use something called a wheelchair. It's like a chair but with wheels. Muggles are strange, aren't they? I suppose it is a good idea for people who can't walk.</p><p>    And get this! Corvus didn't even go to jail! Like what! The ritual he used was so obscure that the laws didn't even apply to him. They were all written for Muggles stealing magic! The Ministry is so incompetent sometimes. I can't believe they haven't been overthrown yet.</p><p>    Right, so long story short, Corvus gets expelled as punishment, and unfortunately (or maybe fortunately for the rest of us?) Riddle had to leave too since he could no longer perform magic.</p><p>    So sad! Ah, I would just kill myself if that happened to me!</p><p>    What happened to them after? Oh, that's probably just as strange as the story. They live together now! Wild! Can you believe it?</p><p>    No, I'm not joking! Listen, Riddle was an orphan with no family or friends. He didn't have any money either, so he was basically homeless when he got kicked out of Hogwarts. He was getting too old to be living in the orphanage, and apparently Corvus decided to take him in just like their previous summer. I guess he felt guilty about stealing his magic? Why did he do it in the first place then?</p><p>    Ah, that's crazy people for you I guess.</p><p>    Tom was a bit crazy too, but I think he said yes to Corvus out of pure desperation. He really had nowhere else to go, you know? It's almost enough to make you feel bad for the guy.</p><p>    I think Corvus actually works at some store in Knockturn now. Borgin and Burkes maybe? I don't mess around with that stuff, you know that, so maybe you can go see and talk to him yourself.</p><p>    Riddle? I don't think he does much of anything these days. He needs a lot of help from Corvus just to get around, and he was so talented in magic, you know? I don't think he ever planned for a future without it.</p><p>    Anyway, I'm so glad they're gone. We can finally have a normal year.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think I'd like to rewrite this one day and actually take it where I wanted it to go! Definitely won't be any time soon though. This is basically like the rough draft of a rough draft lol. Hope y'all enjoyed it! I had fun at least.</p>
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